


Celebrations

by ghostwriter107



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter107/pseuds/ghostwriter107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Belle's first Christmas at the Dark Castle, and she's determined to help Rumpelstiltskin learn what Christmas is really all about, whether he likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrations

**Author's Note:**

> Just my little Christmas present to all of you who need a bit of cheering right now. I hope you enjoy it, and may you have a very merry Christmas.

The snowstorm assaulting the DarkMountain for the better part of a week had finally stopped. For days, the clouds had engulfed the sharp crags that cradled the DarkCastle, coating the gray walls and towers of the citadel with a thick layer of ice. Snow banked up the sides of the castle walls, covering the bottom of the front doors and blanketing the entry way in white layers of dry powdery crystals. Frosty designs patterned the window, the chill leaching through the panes to the thick draperies covering them and into the interior of the colossal residence of the Dark One. During the storm, it had been impossible to discern day from night as the clouds and endless snow flurries had shut out the sun, the endless gray atmosphere encompassing the mountain and the little village below it. Now, the storm had ended, leaving a bitter cold in its wake. Gusts of frigid winds whistled and gushed, igniting flurries and eddies of snow from drift to drift, the only movement for miles.

Belle sighed as she peered out into the cold, gray world through heavy brocade curtains. She puffed warm breaths of air onto a window pane and wiped away the frosty lace so she could catch a glimpse of the outside world. All that met her eyes was colorless and lackluster, an endless void of murky gray and white. Throughout the day, she and Rumpel had sequestered themselves in the kitchen, he spinning in the center of the room and her leafing through a stack of books by the hearth. As the endless, unchanging hours had passed, she had lost all interest in reading, her thoughts turning to her home hundreds of miles to the South. Tomorrow would be Christmas day, her first ever away from her family.

Christmas was her favorite holiday and the people of her village celebrated with feasts and festivities for weeks. On the first day of December, she and her father, King Maurice, would climb into an ornate carriage drawn by a special team of six white horses, harnessed with gold trappings laced with tiny silver bells, their tails and manes braided with festive ribbons. The carriage would be preceded in a grand parade by an honor guard, all dressed in their finest uniforms and mounted on sleek, high-stepping horses. Leaving the palace, they would gaily make their way into the city center followed by musicians, mounted knights and nobles in open carriages, all joyfully throwing handfuls of special holiday coins and candies into the cheering crowd. The parade ended at a tall platform specially erected in the village center. The four pillars of the platform would be wound with green pine bows braided with red and gold ribbons, and its roof platted with heavy canvas tapestries appliquéd with angels, musical instruments and stars. Ascending the twelve steps of the platform, she and her father would make their way to the top along with members of the court to the enthusiastic cheers of their people. From there, Maurice would raise his arms, silencing the crowd, and, in a loud voice, officially proclaim the beginning of the holiday season. Then, the clamorous bass tones of the famed bronze bells of the Great Cathedral would ring out, their melancholy throng heralding the day of First Feast.

The season then became a blur of cheerful activities: balls and feasts; religious services; celebrations of color, food, games and entertainments; concerts, caroling and candlelight vigils. She loved the spirit of the season, the way people greeted one another with holiday salutations, regardless of their class or social standing. Though she usually cared for books more than social activities, she loved the whirlwind schedule of official ceremonies and services assigned to her as the princess of the realm, as well as the parties, plays, concerts and gift exchanges she enjoyed with her friends and family. Best of all, though, were her visits to the poor and underprivileged in the community, a tradition of the women of the ruling house. As a child, her mother had brought her along with her to take gifts of food and clothing to the poor of the realm. Belle was especially fond of the children and their enthusiasm and love for the spirit of celebration around them. She loved bringing happiness to struggling families as well as a measure of provision and hope. After her mothers’ death, Belle had carried on this tradition herself, and it had become her favorite part of the season. In addition to the usual toys, candies, clothes and food items, she had taken it upon herself to include books, primers and school supplies to the poorest children, so they could learn and prosper in her father's kingdom.

Then came the war with the Ogres, and during the past two years, most of their traditions had been suspended as this threat had shifted their focus and resources to the war effort and the needs of the soldiers who served at the front. The first year, activities were subdued and somber as almost every family faced the absence of sons to military service. The next year brought the sobering reality of casualty counts, blocked trade routes, and thousands of refugees flooding into the city with little to no resources. The third year saw observance only of prayers for the safety of their soldiers and villages, and tearful remembrances of those who would never return. Feasts and balls had given way to food collection, blanket and clothing drives, special vigils and prayer services. Belle still made efforts to provide food and clothing to the growing numbers of poor in the community, and still tried to keep the spirit of Christmas with its promise of hope alive. It had been a difficult endeavor, with little time to reflect on the joys of the holiday. Now that the war was over, she knew that the more familiar celebrations would resume. She was happy for her people, truly happy. She loved the fact they’d be able to celebrate again, but it also saddened her to realize she’d be missing out on the joy herself.

When the first of the December had approached, she’d watched Rumpelstiltskin to see how he observed the holiday, but he made no overtures of gaiety or recognition in any discernable fashion. As the winter had descended on the mountain fortress, he spent more time in the great hall spinning. The only difference now was that he spun wool rather than straw. Fascinated, Belle watched as he fed silky, white strands of carded wool onto the wheel and spun off volumes of bright, colorful yarn. Just as brittle stalks of straw spun off the wheel as pure, refined gold, so the fluffy fibers passed through the nimble, magical fingers of her master to become a finished product without the time consuming occupation of dying vats of wet yarn. The threads collected around his feet and trailed about the floor like an ocean wave crashing over the polished tiles and cascading to the corners of the room. Preoccupied with this task, he often enlisted her assistance in rolling the long, thick threads into balls, which were then stored in one of several rooms on the first floor. When she asked why he spun them, he’d simply shrugged and told her he’d have need of them later. On the few occasions when he’d returned to the castle after making deals in the wider realms, she’d asked how the towns were decorated, or what observances he seen of the holiday. Her inquiries were met with a shrug and an air of disinterest, as well as mumbled, non-descript answers. In fact, he seemed oblivious to the holiday season altogether. Perhaps, as the Dark One, he was opposed to a celebration of peace and joy and hope; or perhaps he’d never been included in any celebrations at all. Whatever the cause of her master’s disinterest, she was determined to celebrate the great day within the walls of her new home.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Having decided to bring Christmas to the DarkCastle, Belle had asked Rumpel for permission to decorate the main hall, only to be met with a blank expression. This, of course, had her launching into an enthusiastic and detailed explanation of the holiday events that had filled and thrilled her childhood. His reply had been much less enthusiastic than she’d hoped: she could expect no balls nor concerts nor parties nor plays. Neither family nor friends nor merry makers of any sort would be gathering in the dismal rooms of his castle. She could decorate any room she wished with whatever she found at hand, although he expected that wouldn't go beyond some pine boughs and a few candles. Oh, and he wasn't opposed to her creating a feast as she was a fair cook he was always up for a day of gluttony. Then, he had simply returned to his wheel to continue his endless spinning.

Belle refused to let him ruin the holiday for her and was more determined than ever to win him over. She let his indifference be her inspiration to demonstrate how much fun he could have by celebrating the holiday with her. Having made that determination, she had done her best to decorate the hall with candles, pine needles, pine cones, a few, thin sprigs of mistletoe and several lengths of spun gold her master had allowed her. She spent hours in woolen mittens and heavy coat filling a small handcart with the spoils of the wooded edge outside of the frigid gray citadel she and the Dark One called home. She made wreaths for the doorways, decorated the imposing dining table with candles and branches of holly. She'd strung together cranberries and popped corn, draping them across the length and breadth of the ceiling in the Great Hall. Over the wide mantle of the hearth she placed a large log she'd rescued from the fireplace. Too heavy to lift by herself, Rumpel had gaped dubiously at her for several moments before fulfilling her request to place it over the mantle and had walked away mumbling to himself and shaking his head. This rather uninspired Yule log she festooned with more holly sprigs, pine needles, cones, ribbons and dried flowers and surrounded it with squat jars filled with candles. In all, it was homey, crude and void of any sparkle, but it lifted her spirits nonetheless and she was quite proud of her efforts.

For music, she fetched an enchanted harp from a dusty room on the third floor and heartily sang all of the Christmas carols she knew to the rather giddy instrument, until the lord of the castle remarked that he preferred the harp’s repertoire of bawdy drinking songs to its new arrangements. Her request that he take a few turns around the floor with her as a dance partner had him retreating from her like a scalded hen. She’d resorted to dancing with her broom when her recollections got the better of her. Rumpel watched her curiously, snickered occasionally, but generally said nothing about it.

Next, Belle spent several days baking and decorating literally hundreds of cookies, pies and small cakes, humming joyously to herself in a kitchen dusted liberally with flour. The aroma of sugar, vanilla and spices permeated the air of the keep, finally drawing Rumpelstiltskin from his wheel. On every table, shelf and pedestal sat pretty dishes she'd procured from his various collections, all filled and overflowing with cookies of every variety, fudges and candies, all fresh, fragrant and festive. At last she thought she was getting to him . . . _the way to a man's heart, after all_ . . . as he agreeably sampled the pretty dainties. That was, until he pointed out that they'd never be able to eat everything before it spoiled and they'd get fat on what they _could_ manage to eat before that happened. It was then that she'd begun to doubt herself. Nothing she did seemed to draw him into the holiday spirit and she'd surpassed herself in every effort to win him over.

So it was that she'd thrown herself into making one last effort on the previous night. She’d spent an exhausting day in the kitchen, and when all was made ready, she'd called Rumpel down from his study to the dining hall and her final surprise: she'd prepared his favorite meal. On the whole, Rumpel preferred simple foods, but she'd decided to make dinner as festive an occasion as he'd ever experienced. Rummaging through one of his collection rooms, she'd located several place settings of pure gold, a payment, he'd explained, from King Midas in exchange for the name of a young prince who would have the talent to slay a very troublesome dragon. She set the table with a cloth of red velvet, decorated with fresh pine boughs, spun gold and wax tapers held in crystal holders. Plates and chargers of gleaming gold held venison steak prepared to perfection, served next to steaming vegetables and fluffy rolls. She'd procured an old vintage wine from the cellar and chilled it in a bucket of snow, ready to be poured into crystal goblets that had once belonged to the great Snow Queen from a kingdom far North of the DarkMountain. On the side, a dessert made of glazed apricots and flaky crust, topped with whipped cream and a light dusting of cinnamon.

Standing behind her chair to his immediate right was Belle, resplendent in the beautiful golden dress she'd worn the night he'd procured her and brought her to the DarkCastle. Her brown tresses had been brushed to a gleaming sheen, the sides drawn up into a simple ponytail at the top of her head, secured with several strands of spun gold, and the length left simply hanging down her back in flowing curls. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and a beguiling blush held her delicate features. She watched him as his eyes traced over the room, the table, herself, anticipating the moment he'd catch the fever of her efforts and join her in making the most of what remained of the holiday. Instead, he'd seated himself, picked up his napkin and began pouring wine for the both of them. Belle kept her place a few moments longer, and then quietly pulled her chair out and sat down. His lack of acknowledgment had left her feeling more than dejected. With her appetite totally spoiled, she'd scooted more food around her auspicious plate than she'd eaten, while Rumpel tucked into his portion with relish. Then, after he'd had his fill, he thanked her for dinner and abruptly retired to his wheel for the evening.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Now, Christmas Eve had arrived and she found she couldn't muster even a small amount of joy. Her usually bright spirit had succumbed to the same listless chill as the inclement weather outside. She felt as if she’d failed her master with her inadequate attempts to draw him into the magic of Christmas. Having spend so many weeks trying to convey the joy of the holiday to the dark imp who held her captive, she found no energy to continue the celebration in the last hours of Christmas itself. Instead, the cold day had been spent in retreat to the kitchen to stir leftovers and drink tea while the Dark One silently and relentlessly spun yarn. Sighing, she turned from the bleak sights outside of the window and walked morosely to the blazing kitchen hearth, holding her hands out to capture the warmth the cheerless fire offered. She was wearing a long dress of red wool, the full skirt puffed over several layers of slips and underskirts keeping her warm even in the penetrating cold born of the winter storm. She wished she could warm the cold heart of her master as easily.

"Such a cheerful color for so blue a mood!" muttered Belle to herself as she tested the thick stew she had set over the grill in the hearth. Adding a pinch of salt after tasting the mix of seared venison and chunks of vegetables, the remnants of last night's dinner, she returned the lid to the cast iron pot and turned her attention to a bowl of floury dough. Sighing again, she began pinching small handfuls of dough, rolling them into balls in her hands and placing them side by side in a Dutch over she'd selected earlier. Completing the task, she slid them onto the grill next to the soup pot in the hearth, and then sank into the rocking chair she had occupied by the fireside throughout the long day. During supper, she simply ate and offered no more conversation: no descriptions of trees or halls, no stories of gatherings or balls, no dances or songs.

Belle looked over at her somber master as he sat by the great wooden wheel, spinning yet another extensive length of wool. Over the last month, she had seen him spin skein after skein of wool in various colors: red, green, yellow, pink, orange and purple. This time, it was blue. He'd been so single-mindedly focused on this task, the creak of the wheel constant, generating little conversation and responding to her attempts at discourse only minimally. Without his asking, she stood and gathered up an extensive armful of the soft yarn and walked it over to her chair. After seating herself, she began rolling the yarn into balls, her hands doing the familiar work on their own accord, allowing her thoughts to once again drift back to home and Papa and friends celebrating without her while she spent another quiet evening with her reclusive master.

With a final creak of the wheel, Rumpelstiltskin ceased his task. He looked across the room and found his beautiful maid lost in thought, her mind preoccupied and her nimble fingers winding the blue yarn into more useful balls. Her delicate hands moving at a constant pace in orbit around the growing blue orb, he smiled as he remembered how he had envisioned her expressive azure eyes when choosing the color for this particular batch of soft woolen threads. Those eyes were now lost in visions of the past fancies, the parties and feasts she had celebrated with friends and family. No doubt she missed wearing fancy dresses and dancing the night away with the dandies who passed for nobility.

He wasn’t unsympathetic to her feelings; indeed, he realized how difficult it must be for her to remain cooped up with a monster during a time she was accustomed to setting aside for fun but, as she was now his servant, she must learn to cope with their isolation and her change in station. Still, he had to credit her for her attempts to bring some celebration to the DarkCastle. Though he’d been careful to say nothing lest he get her hopes up he found her attempts to decorate the hall quite charming and he certainly enjoyed the savory dishes and sweet desserts she’d been laboring to make for them. He also found himself watching her dance about, her lovely hips swaying as her feet traced the rhythms of her songs. He loved to dance himself, but felt reserved when it came to his pretty maid. It wouldn’t do to encourage her in her merry-making as she would surely feel her losses more by comparison to the sparse entertainment she could find with him. Besides, his own experiences had taught him that the nobility had very different ideas about the occupations of Christmas than the people they governed. The poor had different needs, different priorities.

Still, she looked so forlorn beside the hearth and pity bloomed for her in his parsimonious heart. A little conversation couldn’t hurt, and mayhap he could enlighten her a bit on the true meaning of the holiday. He stooped and picked up the end of the blue yarn that he’d dropped from the wheel and began winding it around on itself, forming a new ball for his growing collection stored in nearby rooms. Slowly, he closed the distance between Belle and himself, stopping to sit on the hearth near her chair. His hands in motion, he lifted his brown eyes to her somber blue ones and began to draw her out. “So,” he asked, “you’re thinking of home, no doubt?”

Her hands pausing momentarily, Belle looked down at her master, his dusky features reflecting the red of the fire’s glow. He never appeared to her as more impish than he did right now. Resuming her task, she answered timidly, “yes.”

A few moments passed in silence as each continued to gaze at the other, their hands still in motion. “What would you be doing tonight, Belle, if you were back in your father’s palace?”

Belle smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the joy of memories revisited. “On Christmas Eve, we’d begin the evening with a lovely dinner in the great hall for all of the palace servants and their families.” Rumpel started, surprised to hear that the lord of the castle would dine with his servants. Belle, not noticing his reaction, continued. “We’d have roast goose and venison, winter vegetables and sweet, sticky buns. Afterward, the children would all gather at the end of the hall where a huge Christmas tree was standing and watch as some of the older boys climbed ladders and lit candles set on the branches.” The ball in her hand having grown too large to continue wrapping, Belle reached into a basket at her feet and removed a small pair of scissors. She snipped the yarn she’d been holding and returned the scissors to the basket. Setting the compact orb aside, she used the snipped end to begin a new ball.

For the first time in days, Belle felt truly happy. It was the first time Rumpel had shown any interest in the holiday or in what she wished to share with him. He continued to roll yarn and waited patiently for her to continue. “Well, then we’d sing silly songs, you know, the kind the children liked to sing. After that, Papa or I would read a story to the children, and then we’d pass out cloth bags filled with fruit and nuts and candy and small gifts. Every child received a book, something they could read for themselves. Then, we’d send them off to bed to wait for Santa.”

Rumpel was stunned. He’d never imagined a royal family taking such interest in those who served them. He’d done Belle a disservice in imagining her to have selfish motives, not realizing that the innate kindness she’d shown him every day had been carried over from her life before servitude. Intrigued, he asked, “what about the dances, the parties? Don’t you miss those?”

“Well, of course,” she answered, “and seeing friends and my papa.”

“And if you could have one moment now, tonight,” he asked, “what would you choose to do? What do you miss most?”

Belle smiled, her face illuminated by the fire’s glow. “I’d visit the children. There were always poor families in the realm, sometimes made so by illness or some misfortune. I loved helping them, giving them a way to join in the celebrations, giving them a small measure of hope.”

Rumpel contemplated this newly revealed side of his servant. When he’d first brought Belle to the DarkCastle, he’d been deliciously amused at the thought of turning the tenants of fairy philosophy on its side: after all, fairies turned maids into princesses and he was turning a princess into a maid. He’d thought of the sheer entertainment he’d derive from her as she attempted and then failed at menial chores, complained about the quality of her quarters and her wardrobe, demanded and was denied preferential treatment. He’d thought he’d spend a few weeks being entertained at the expense of a pretty and worthless debutante who’d be appalled at chipped nails and course quarters and then have the pleasure of giving her back to her father with a report of her worthlessness, made doubly so because no noble house in all of the realms would ally their son to the former servant of the Dark One. It had only taken a few days for him to realize he’d not bargained for a self-indulgent royal, but had gained a rare treasure of humanity no matter what her origin; a treasure he wouldn’t part with at any price. She’d surprised him all along with her ability to adapt to the life she’d willingly chosen, her eagerness to learn new things and to serve him unbegrudgingly. She treated him with respect and equality, something even those who feared him . . . and she _didn’t_ fear him . . . had never done. It surprised and pleased him that of all of the things she’d wish to have for Christmas, she would choose to inspire hope in the weakest of humanity.

Standing abruptly, Rumpel waved his hands in a frivolous gesture, startling Belle as the yarn she was working on, as well as all of the yarn in the room, disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, whisked away in completion to one of the rooms he’d been storing it in since he’d begun the project. Preening a bit in front of the hearth, he bowed slightly from the waist and offered Belle a hand up from the rocking chair. “Belle, would you do me the honor of joining me in a Christmas celebration?”

Joy and excitement at once reigned in the beauty’s heart and she eagerly placed her small hand in his, allowing him to assist her in rising. “Yes!” she exclaimed brightly. “What are we going to do?”

He very much liked that he had been able to lift her from her sad state with only a simple invitation. “We’ll need to make a few minor adjustments,” he said. Stepping back several paces, he pointedly scrutinized her attire. “The dress will do,” he said, approving the red wool dress with its long sleeves and full skirt, “and the color is quite befitting for what I have in mind, but you’ll need a couple of accessories.”

Raising both hands in the air, he produced a long, feminine cloak of matching bright, red wool, the hood and hem trimmed in white fur, and the lining of dark ermine. The garment was beautiful as well as functional and Belle permitted herself a moment to openly admire it. Opening the cloak, Rumpel held it aloft as she turned and allowed him to help her slip it on. She closed the braided frogs over the front to secure it over her bodice and turned back to him, seeing he had also donned his own black overcoat. Next, he produced a pair of very plain, brown cloth bags with drawstrings at the top. Handing her one, she puzzled for a moment before asking, “What are these for?”

Smiling roguishly, he answered in his old familiar titter, “why, they’re magic bags, of course. Nuh, nuh, nuh, no time for questions,” he shushed her before she could ask. Then, offering his arm as if he was escorting her onto a dance floor he asked, “shall we, dearie?”

Excited, the beauty took his arm and in a flourish of Rumpels’ magic worn hands, they disappeared from the confines of the dark citadel. They materialized on a snow crested hill overlooking the village of Cathair Gruamach, nestled below the cliffs of the DarkMountain. From their vantage point, the walled village looked sleepy and peaceful. The snow laden streets reflected the gentle rays of a silver moon now suspended in a velvety black sky flecked with diamonds of stars. The bitter cold lent it an air of somber slumber, the darkened windows of the houses evidence that all had fallen asleep for the night.

Although some superstition and suspicion was associated with the village living in the shadow of the abode of the Dark One, it sat on the crossroads between The Enchanted Forrest to the West and the sea coast of the Marshlands to the Southeast, making it a main thoroughfare for commerce and trade. The locals made their living by providing goods and services to the trade caravans, travelers, soldiers and government officials passing through the region. As in any town, the citizenry experienced an inequity in wealth. Farmers, tradesmen, food venders, livery stables and innkeepers made up the majority of the population, a viable middle class who lived well. A few notable personages accounted for the wealthy class, mainly politicians and merchants who knew how to exploit the import and export of goods to other regions. And then, there were the poor, comprised mostly of widows with young children, elderly people whose age now kept them from occupation and a small convent comprised of a group of dedicated nuns caring for approximately seventy orphans.

Having identified the convent to Belle, Rumpel quietly directed the magic to set them inside the confines of a dormatory of approximately five and twenty young boys. Belle stood in awe in the middle of the room, slowly turning her gaze around the children’s quarters. The dark room was long and narrow, lined on either side with plain but sturdy beds, most of which held two bedmates sharing each other’s warmth. On one end of the room stood a rough table with a water pitcher and basin beside an unpainted door leading to the interior of the orphanage. On the other side of the room stood a cold hearth, its coals safely banked beneath a heap of dead ashes waiting to be stoked to life in the morning. A small, stingy box of kindling sat beside it, its contents promising only a scant fire to ward off the invasive cold. Silver moon beams and flakes of fluttery snow wafted through uneven holes in the shutters covering two large windows, neither set of shutters offering shelter from the frigid air bombarding the room from outside.

Belle turned her head toward a small movement in the periphery of her vision, smiling approvingly as her master nimbly pointed toward the hearth, his magic igniting a sturdy fire. Another gesture produced a stack of firewood three feet high to the side of the fireplace. Approaching the bed closest to the door, Rumpel turned and gestured for Belle to assist him. She quietly padded over to him and watched as he reached deeply inside his empty bag and drew out a large woolen blanket, gray with a blue stripe on each end. Handing it to her, she unfolded it and placed it over the two children huddled together on the bed. She watched as Rumpel then withdrew two small, knitted sweaters, one orange and one blue, made from the yarn he’d been spinning for the past month and placed them at the foot of the bed. These were joined by new socks, scarves and mittens.   Belle gazed in wonder at the lovely gifts, and then at the imp who’d given them. Tears tugged at her eyes as her heart filled with wonder at the kindness of Rumpelstiltskin, monster, demon and beast, who’d spent endless hours spinning the soft threads and then used his magic to make warm and practical gifts for unwanted children.

Seeing her emotional response, her dusky master raised one finger in the air and shook it back and forth, signaling her to keep her tears in check. Then, smiling impishly, he pointed to the empty sack she held in her own hand expectantly. Cautiously she reached inside and immediately felt the solid form of a small metal square. Withdrawing it, she saw it was indeed a tin approximately six inches square, with a gold bell painted on top. Lifting the lid, she was pleasantly surprised to find it filled with cookies and homemade candies, some of the very confections she’d made at the DarkCastle several days ago.

“How?” she whispered.

Rumpel shrugged in response and then whispered back, “I told you they’d spoil before we could eat them. It seemed a shame to let them go to waste.”

Delighted, Belle set the tin on top of the blue sweater left for one boy, and then removed a similar tin to place on the orange sweater of the other boy. Happily, Belle turned toward the next bed, but Rumpel grabbed her upper arm before she could step away. “One more time, dearie,” he directed.

Noticing the bag suddenly felt heavier, she reached down into the bottom and drew out two children’s books, simple tales that had delighted the children of her own realm. This time warm tears freely and silently coursed down her cheeks as she lovingly placed one each on the foot of the bed for the occupants therein. Of all of the miracles of this night, this was the one which touched her most deeply. It had always been her unwavering conviction that literacy had the power to change the fortunes of children, no matter how humble their beginning. She truly believed that reading provided anyone with the opportunity for a brighter future. Giving a child clothes for warmth helped him through the day, but opening the window on learning helped him for life.

One bed at a time, the former princess and the ageless imp bestowed their gifts on the sleeping orphans. They repeated this process throughout the other dorms, bestowing their gifts on the boys and girls sheltered in the humble convent. When they’d finished with the children, Rumpel led Belle into the kitchen where he filled the pantry with enough flour, sugar and oil to last through the rough winter months. He produced barrels of pickled cabbage, apples, raisins, dried fruits and nuts, jars of vegetables and cured meats. The good nuns would find several cords of cut and split firewood within easy access to the back door in the morning. Finally, he left a small chest filled with finely spun gold on the cooks’ table in the center of the kitchen. Satisfied that the children were well taken care of, Rumpel took Belle’s small hand in his own, and then transported them to the home of an elderly widow the next street over.

Throughout the night, Rumpel led Belle from one house to another, leaving behind gifts of warm cloaks and sweaters, blankets, food and firewood. In each place, a book of stories or history or romance or inspiration was given to occupy the recipient through the winter months. The moon had already retired and the sunrise was shedding a luster of golden hues on the endless blanket of snow when their task was completed. Bone weary but happier than she could ever remember being, Belle sighed exhaustedly when Rumpel finally transported them to their own kitchen. She couldn’t remember a more satisfying Christmas in all of her years.

Her eyes were heavy and she longed for her bed, but her stomach protested, a reminder that she’d gone for many hours with neither food nor drink, and decided a snack before retiring would do her some good. Knowing that Rumpel shared her condition, she folded her bag and placed it on the table. Removing the red cloak from her shoulders, she draped it over a nearby chair and set about making tea while Rumpel silently added kindling to the dying fire on the hearth. After pouring them each of cup of fragrant tea spiced with orange rinds and cinnamon, she cut them each a generous slice of pound cake. Together, they sat in companionable silence upon the warm hearth of the fireplace in a shared repast. Belle let her gaze roam over the kitchen, taking note of the now empty plates, bowls and containers that had once overflowed with confections and delicacies. She had made those treats as a bribe to get her master to learn about the joy of sharing with others, not knowing that he already knew far more about giving that she’d have ever imagined. She knew without looking that the rooms storing the thousands of skeins of yarn he’d spun were now empty, the larders of the Dark Castle reduced from its over-abundance to just the right amount for two. For the first time she understood that Rumpelstiltskin was no simple trickster or magician: he was a unique individual with layers of knowledge, personality, experience and compassion to uncover. She also understood that it would take her a lifetime to peel back those layers, something she wanted to do now more than anything.

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Belle heard the familiar footfall of her husband down the hallway before Rumpel entered the kitchen just after six on Christmas Eve and planted a light kiss on her cheek. She stood in front of the stove stirring hot chocolate, keeping a steady rhythm with the spoon so that a white froth had formed on top of the steaming liquid. Turning off the burner, she used a holiday pot holder to lift the pan from the stove and pour the contents into two large, white mugs. She then swirled whipped cream over the top of each cup, then gave them a light dusting of cinnamon.

Rumpel, seated at the breakfast bar, smiled appreciatively as she set a cup in front of him and took the seat beside him. Gingerly he took a sip from the cup, the hot chocolate heating his tongue as the cold whipped cream cooled his upper lip, the flavors and textures blending as he swallowed. He glanced over at Belle as she took a quick sip from her own cup before answering her cell phone. He was always taken with how lovely she was, even more taken that she was his.

He could see her barely contained excitement as her eyes darted over a dozen boxes of freshly baked cookies, tins of fudge and homemade candies they’d be driving over to the convent in an hour. The van he’d rented was parked outside, already loaded with several boxes of books (children’s stories, books on history, science, exploration and biographies) all ready to be delivered when Dove arrived to drive them over. In this, their second Christmas together, they’d decided to continue their traditions of taking care of the orphans and less fortunate of their community. Things were done a little differently here, of course. The magic of this world flowed more smoothly in the form of currency, so donations to various groups had already been made. As Mr. Gold, Rumpelstiltskin had uncharacteristically suspended or reduced the rents of several elderly people and single mothers, as well as providing food baskets and other assistance. The recipients hadn’t really known what to make of these uncharacteristic gestures, and some erroneously attributed it to the terse landlords’ desire to impress his new bride. Their conclusions mattered little to him, though, since it wasn’t their approval he sought in doing what he did. None knew, except Belle and Bae, of course, that he’d once been among the poor and destitute and understood their plight as no one else could. Only they knew how giving of himself gave him strength.

It had taken a bit of convincing in the form of a very generous check (and rent reduction) to get Mother Superior (Blue, that detestable fairy) to agree to let him and Belle celebrate Christmas with the children at the convent. The ranks of the score of misplaced children who already lived at the convent had been swelled by a dozen or so “lost boys” from Neverland several months past and his check would go a long way in supporting the children who lived there. Belle had rolled up her sleeves weeks ago, enlisting the community in raising funds to purchase books, school supplies and a couple of computers for the orphans. She had also convinced her father to donate a large Christmas tree and poinsettias, and had easily conspired with Emma, Neal and David for the Sheriff’s Office to organize a toy drive for the children. She and Snow had spent several Saturday’s making ornaments with the children to decorate their tree and dorm rooms. Instead of the quiet, anonymous gifts he’d been accustomed to providing as the Dark One, Belle had made this a community event to engage in the spirit of sharing. He shook his head as he watched her finish her conversation with Snow, a last minute coordination to meet up at the convent. She never ceased to amaze him.

After shutting off her phone, Belle watched Rumpel moving about her. He’d put on a show that she was putting too much effort into “do-gooding” over the last month, but she knew that was just half-hearted grumbling. For all his image of selfishness and reputation as a heartless fiend, she knew he supported every effort aimed at helping people who needed it. He had wrapped any vulnerability he had beneath layers of hidden agendas, wealth and ruthless pursuits, but it was there just the same. Maybe he really didn’t like the limelight and recognition -after all he _was_ telling people he only helped to make his new wife happy- but he’d been the one to determine the amount of money he’d expended, and it had been much more than even _she_ believed was sufficient. Oh, she had no doubt that he was self-serving and mercurial, but he had many, many facets to his personality, and just as he pursued his own gains, he was also generous and capable of great love.

After all, it had been he who had shown her how to best to celebrate the Season of Love.

 

 


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